


Iron Moon

by Verbrennung



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (the bad kind), Horror, IwaOi Horror Week, M/M, rated M for noncon cutting/blood-drawing/abduction/sinister spells, that’s basically the whole fic, witch!oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbrennung/pseuds/Verbrennung
Summary: written for Iwaoi Horror Week 2018 Day 3: “WITCH TRIAL”Imagine the most beautiful boy the human eye could comprehend. That is what he saw that day, and Hajime had been entranced from the very first moment.It had been his undoing.PLEASE read the tags!!





	Iron Moon

**Author's Note:**

> couldn’t resist when I saw the prompts for day 3 of iwaoi horror week!!
> 
> DAY 3: WITCH TRIAL  
>  **garden of poisons** / **be careful what you wish for** / blood for blood / cult of mysteries / sacrificial lamb / **a necessary transformation** / **the silver dagger behind your back** / **blood pacts** / those who kill men and harvest their organs for spells of immortality together, stay together, forever, like literally / **nine crow feathers, one eagle’s heart, and a cupped hand of iron-rich blood**
> 
> i re-wrote the witches’ song from macbeth for the incantation, which was fun!! the title is from iron moon by Chelsea Wolfe, which also inspired the whole fic ~~my witchy queen~~

Imagine the most beautiful boy the human eye could comprehend. That is what he saw that day, and Hajime had been entranced from the very first moment.

  
  
It had been his undoing.

  
  
Tooru has the fairest skin, unblemished and smooth. His hair is the richest chocolate, matching his eyes perfectly, which can be wide in wonder one moment and then sparkling with mischief in the next. When they’d first met in the dark tangle of the forest’s center, Hajime had thought there unknown depths in the boy’s eyes. He longed to know of them, to learn the boy’s secrets.

  
  
_Be careful what you wish for._

  
  
Tooru looked a part of the forest, as if itself had raised him. He roamed the grassy wildflower meadow in bare feet, only a simple white tunic to preserve his modesty. But the mysterious beauty of the sunlit wilds is not his home. The colorful ocean of blooms and it’s soft fragrance were a lie, a garden of poisons cultivated to lure Hajime in. He hadn’t been wise to the invisible vines curling around his own ankles, sinister and determined, tying him to the place.

  
  
Tooru was not really Tooru at all but _Oikawa_ . And this is where he truly belongs - in the darkness of his lair, the fabric of the black hooded cloak draped over his frame melding so perfectly with the abyss around him that it might be made of pure darkness itself. The depths of his eyes are on display here, as the contents of the charred cauldron bubble and reflect in his orbs, changing them from their lush brown to a sinister, unnatural mimicry of the viscous green liquid he stirs. In it he can see the scope of Oikawa’s wretched potential.

  
  
They lift their gaze to meet Hajime’s across the vile pot, and shine with something between mischief and malice as his lips curl upwards.

 

“Don’t be frightened, Iwa-chan. I’ve been lonely for a long time, mostly because I’m so picky. But you should be glad I chose you, because now we can be together forever.”

  
  
Hajime knows he can’t move, bound to the chair by an invisible force that mimics tight rope, even chafing against his skin as he struggles against it. He’d speak, but he’s beyond that now, the tight grip of terror having fully taken hold and robbed him of his voice - or maybe that’s the other man’s dreadful work, too.

  
  
“Now be quiet, Iwa-chan,” the witch coos, as his hands reach for the gruesome ingredients atop the worn wooden table at his side. “This is the important part, so you must be quiet.”

  
  
And then he begins to sing. Or is it a chant? Whichever it is, there’s an odd rhythmic cadence to the words he utters quietly, heavy with intent and the wrong kind of magic:

  
  
_“Double, double toil and trouble;_  
_Fire burn and cauldron bubble._  
_Feather nine of midnight crow,_  
_Stir the cauldron three times slow._  
_Nightshade, ivy, thorn of rose,_  
_Dash of tears ripe with woes._  
_Add the wisened eagle’s heart,_  
_And now the fun will soon start._  
_For a charm of powerful trouble,_  
_Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”_

  
  
Then Oikawa places down the heavy ladle he’s been using to the stir the terrible mixture and rounds the table. Hajime’s hair stands on end in alert as he draws near, the strange awareness of Oikawa’s presence he’d felt in the meadow twisted to something dark and worthy of wariness.

  
  
A flick of graceful fingers and Hajime’s right arm raises under the duress of an unknown force. It hovers there, utterly still, and Hajime stares at it in fear before a glint catches his eye.

  
  
Oikawa withdraws a silver knife from behind his back, shiny and flawless and terrifying. He raises it above his head, twirling it in his hand before slowly descending it to rest its blade softly on the thin, fragile skin of Hajime’s wrist. He draws a line across it, the blade so sharp there’s nothing to see for a second before the blood wells from the wound. The witch cocks his head and Hajime’s wrist rotates with it, so that the blood slides from his skin and into Oikawa’s hand waiting cupped beneath it.

  
  
Hajime watches, sick but mesmerized, as the makeshift container fills with his own iron-rich life force. When it’s at capacity Oikawa pulls away, Hajime’s arm dropping to his side immediately, drops of his blood hitting in spatters against the cold stone floor.

  
  
With a single-minded focus, Oikawa continues his spell:

  
  
_“Double, double toil and trouble;_  
_Fire burn and cauldron bubble._  
_Cool it with cupped hand of blood,_  
_Then the charm is firm and good.”_

  
  
And with that the unholy incantation is complete; the tension in the air dropping, disappearing completely and leaving the room cool and damp.

  
  
The ladel swirls through the cooled mixture a final time, and then lifts to pour the product into a goblet held by Oikawa’s other hand.

  
  
He brings it to Hajime carefully, almost reverently, and holds it close to his mouth.

  
  
“A necessary transformation,” Oikawa reasons, tone almost regrettable, his brown eyes wide and imploring. “Human’s can’t live forever, after all.”

  
  
Hajime should refuse, should thrash and spit curses and turn his face away, but he’s already caught. He’s helpless to this boy, beautiful even in his evil depravity.

  
  
He parts his lips, and Oikawa looks both relieved and utterly pleased as he tips the liquid between them.

  
  
It’s cool and viscous as it slides down his throat, settling heavy in his stomach. And then it starts to do its awful dead, the magical poison spreading throughout his body and enveloping him in searing pain as he begins to transform.

  
  
Hajime screams, the sound piercing the cavern.  


  
  
Somewhere in the distance, his mother stands at the doorway of their cabin, nervously watching the darkening sky. He should be home by now. As she turns to retreat back into their home to await him there, she hears a terrible scream carried on the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on tumblr!


End file.
